Authors: David Gemmell
Ahead was a double door of studded oak and the guard began to move more swiftly.
’Stop!’ said Shannow, but the man merely dived for the floor and the doors began to open.
’Down!’ bellowed Shannow, dropping to his knees, his pistol coming up as the muzzles of several rifles appeared in the open doorway. Shannow fired, and the first rifleman pitched from sight. The corridor was filled with deafening explosions. Shells whistled past Shannow and his own gun boomed twice more, then there was silence. He flicked open the cylinder guard and reloaded his pistol, then ran forward, hugging the wall. A rifleman stepped into sight and Shannow put two shots in his chest.
Behind Shannow, the guard who had been leading them reached into his boot and produced a long-bladed knife. He rose silently ‘and launched himself at the Jerusalem Man, but a shot rang out and he staggered. Shannow twisted and fired and the man slumped to the floor.
Batik sprinted along the other side of the corridor.
’Nice pistol,’ he said. ‘Pulls a little to the left.’
Shannow nodded and pointed to the right of the doorway and Batik sighed and cocked his pistol. Moving forward at a run, he dived through the doorway and rolled on his shoulder. Behind the door a crouching rifleman swung his weapon, but Batik shot him in the head before he could bring the barrel to bear. Shells ricocheted off the marble floor, shrieking past Batik’s head. He glanced up and saw he was in a huge hall edged by a wide inner balcony where other marksmen were kneeling, covering the door. He scrambled to his feet and hurled himself back into the corridor.
’Any other ideas?’ he asked Shannow.
’Not at the moment.’
’That’s just as well!’
Behind them four of the Wolvers were down and dying, the others crouching around them keening softly.
’Can you climb?’ asked Shannow. Batik glanced up at the high windows.
’I'll break my neck.’
’All right, we’ll just sit here and wait for a miracle.’
’I thought your God was good at those.’
’He helps those who help themselves,’ said Shannow dryly.
Batik exchanged pistols with Shannow and pushed the fully loaded Hellborn gun into his belt. The wall below the window was constructed of solid marble blocks about two feet square; between each block was a crack which allowed a tentative grip. Batik placed his foot on the first block and began to climb. He was a powerful man, but before he had climbed more than fifteen feet his fingers were aching with the effort; at thirty feet, he began to curse Shannow. At forty feet he slipped. His feet scrabbled for purchase and all of his weight hung on the three fingers of his right hand. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he fought down panic, moving his foot slowly into position to take his weight. His arms began to tremble, but he took a deep breath and pushed on, hooking his arm over the ledge of the arched window. Light blinded him and he blinked rapidly; he was overlooking the main courtyard and could see men running from the walls to the steps below, leading into the hall.
Swiftly he straddled the ledge and leaned out. As he had feared, there was no easy way to the windows above the hall balcony, and now the drop was even worse. With a whispered curse he lowered himself to the first foothold and started to traverse the outer wall. He had moved some ten feet when a musket ball hit the stone beside his head and screamed off above him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a man on the gate turret hastily reloading his weapon.
Batik moved on. How long would it take to reload? Thirty seconds? A minute? His heart was pounding furiously as he reached the window and clamped his hand on the secure ledge. He risked another glance and saw the man aiming the rifle. Batik swung out, hanging by his right arm as the shot hit the ledge, chipping stone fragments which stung his hand. He hauled himself over the ledge and tumbled on to the balcony. Two men were kneeling there watching the doorway below, and they both turned as Batik fell. The Hellborn threw himself at them, knocking aside a musket barrel. The weapon fired. Batik cracked his fist against the man’s chin and kicked out at the second rifleman, catching him in the chest and knocking him flat. The first man drew a knife and leapt forward; Batik blocked the man’s knife-arm with a chopping blow, grabbed his hair and, with a tremendous surge of power, hurled him over the balcony wall. The man’s scream was cut off as he hit the marble floor.
Batik pulled his pistol clear and swung on the second man, who was sitting motionless with his hands above his head. He was a youngster, maybe sixteen, with wide blue eyes and an open face too pretty to be called handsome.
Batik shot him between the eyes.
Across the hallway other riflemen had seen the action and opened fire. Batik dived to the floor and scrambled towards a stone pillar at one corner of the hall. From this position he had two fields of fire and could also see the stairwell which led to the balcony. He glanced at the riflemen opposite; there were three of them, each armed with muskets.
’Shannow!’ he called. There’s only three. You want me to kill them?’
At the other end of the hall Shannow grinned. ‘Give them a chance to surrender,’ he shouted.
Batik waited for several seconds. They haven’t surrendered,’ he said.
’Wait!’ came a cry from the balcony. ‘We don’t want any more killing.’
Throw the muskets over the edge,’ called Batik and three weapons clattered to the stone. ‘And any pistols.’ More weapons crashed to the floor. ‘Now stand up where we can see you.’
The men did so. Batik would have killed them, but he only had five shots left and knew there were more enemies in the courtyard below. ‘Bring them out, Shannow,’ he yelled and then ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time and emerging into the shadowed doorway of the main entrance. Outside, several men were crouching behind hastily built barricades constructed of water-barrels and grain sacks.
’What now, general?’ asked Batik as Shannow moved alongside him in the shadows.
’Now we talk,’ said Shannow and moved forward. ‘Hold your fire,’ he called, descending the steps and moving slowly towards the crouching riflemen.
That is far enough,’ called a voice.
Shannow stopped. ‘Inside there are seven dead men -some of them were probably friends of yours. Eight others surrendered and tonight they will be with their families enjoying supper. You decide what you want to do. Batik! Bring them out.’
The Jerusalem Man stood calmly before the-riflemen as the first of the Wolvers stumbled into the daylight. One by one the guards put down their rifles and stood. Batik led the former slaves through the gates and out into the main street of the town, where the Wolvers huddled together behind the black-garbed Hellborn.
Back in the courtyard, a terrible scream tore through the air as the skeletal, bearded widower ran into the open clutching the flintlock pistol. He looked at Shannow and the guards and then ran out into the street behind the Wolvers, stopping only when he saw the crowds lining the buildings. He screamed again and fell to his knees, staring down at his filthy body and the pus-filled sores on his skin.
His wild eyes raked the crowd. ‘You took it all!’ he shouted, lifting the pistol under his chin and pulling the trigger. Blood gushed from his throat and he toppled forward.
Shannow rode from the castle, leading two horses. He paused by the body and then looked at the silent crowd. There were no words to convey his contempt and he rode on. The guards had carried Archer to the porch by the store; the black man was coming round, but he could not stand.
Take him inside somewhere,’ ordered Shannow. ‘Find him a bed.’
’Bring him to my place,’ said Flora. ‘I’ll see to him.’
Shannow nodded to the woman. The Wolvers were sitting in the centre of the street, some of them still holding their pick-axes. Shannow dismounted and moved to Batik. ‘Get some food from the store for them. Clothes, suppplies . . . Jesus! I don’t know. Get them anything they need.’
The storekeeper, Baker, walked out on to the street.
’Who is going to run the mine?’ he asked.
Shannow hit him and the man fell to the dust.
’There was no need for that,’ whimpered Baker.
Shannow took a deep breath. ‘You are correct, Meneer Baker, and I cannot begin to explain it.’ He left the man and walked to the Wolvers, moving in to kneel amongst them.
’Can any of you understand me?’ he asked. They looked at him, but did not speak; their faces were cowed, their eyes dull. Flora approached, bringing with her the young boy who had stabled Shannow’s horse.
’They do understand you,’ she said. ‘Robin here has lived with them.’
’We are going to get you some food,’ Shannow told them. Then you are free to return to the plains, or the mountains, or wherever you call home.’
’Ree?’ said a small dark figure to the right, his head tilting, his eyes fixed on Shannow’s. The voice was piping and high, almost musical.
’Yes. Free.’
’Ree!’ The creature blinked and touched one of its comrades on the shoulder. Shannow saw it was a female. It placed its arms around her shoulders and their faces touched. ‘Ree,’ the Wolver whispered.
’Archer wants to see you,’ said Flora. Shannow stood and followed her through the eating-house and up a flight of rickety wooden steps to a bedroom above the kitchen.
Archer was dozing when Shannow entered, but he awoke when the Jerusalem Man sat on the bed beside him.
’Nicely done, Shannow,’ he whispered.
’I was lucky,’ said Shannow. ‘How are you feeling?’
’Strange. Light-headed, but there’s no pain. I’m so glad to see you, Shannow. When you went over that ledge I had a sinking feeling in my heart.’ The black man leaned back and closed his swollen eyes; his face was badly cut and gashed and his words were slurring badly.
’Rest now,’ advised Shannow, squeezing his shoulder. ‘I’ll come back later.’
’No,’ said Archer, opening his eyes, ‘I feel fine. I thought for a while that Riggs and his friends were going to kill me, and I knew Amaziga would be so angry. She’s a fine woman and a wonderful wife, but nag? She’s always telling me to take a weapon with me. But then how many enemies does a man meet in a dead city? You’ll like her, Shannow; she made me wait eight years before agreeing to marry me - said I was too soft, that she wasn’t going to risk falling in love with a man who would be killed during his first hostile encounter. She was nearly right. But my charm won her in the end. Tough lady, Shannow . . . Shannow?’
’Whal is it?’
’Why has it gone dark? Is it so late already?’
The sun was shining brightly through the open window.
’Light a lamp, Shannow. I can’t see you.’
There is no oil,’ said Shannow desperately.
’Oh well, never mind. I like the dark. Do you mind sitting here with me?’
’Not at all.’
’I wish I had my Stone - then these bruises would be gone in seconds.’
There’ll be another at the Ark.’
Archer chuckled. ‘How could you attack a fortress?’
’I don’t know; it seemed like a good idea at the time.’
’Batik told me you are unable to comprehend impossible odds and I can quite believe him. Did you know that Ridder was a priest?’
’Yes.’
’Strange religion you have, Shannow.’
’No, Archer. Just that some very strange people are attracted to it.’
’Including you?’
’Including me.’
’Why are you sounding so sad? It’s a fine day. I never thought to get out of there alive - they just kept kicking me. Batik tried to stop them, but they beat him down with staves. Staves . . . I’m very tired, Shannow. I think . . .’
’Archer . . . Archer!’
Flora moved forward and lifted the man’s wrist. ‘He’s dead,’ she whispered.
’He can’t be,’ protested Shannow.
’I'm sorry.’
’Where is Riggs?’
’He was in the meeting hall.’
Shannow strode from the room and down the stairs, emerging into the sunlight where Batik was passing food amongst the Wolvers. Batik saw the expression on his face and moved to join him.
’What’s happened?’
’Archer is dead.’
’Where are you going?’
’Riggs,’ said Shannow tersely, pushing past him.
’Wait!’ called Batik, grabbing Shannow’s arm. ‘He’s mine!’
Shannow turned. ‘What gives you the right?’
’Poetry, Shannow. I’m going to beat him to death!’
Together the two men entered the meeting hall. There were two dozen tables and a long bar running the length of the room. At the back sat three men, all of them armed. As Shannow and Batik moved forward slowly, two of the men eased themselves to their feet and edged away from the third.
The man hurled the table away and stood. Riggs was over six feet tall and powerfully muscled, his face flat and brutal, his eyes small and cold.
’Well?’ he said. ‘What’s it to be?’
Batik handed the pistol to Shannow and moved forward unarmed.
’You must be insane,’ said Riggs. Batik hit him with a crashing right-hand blow and he staggered and spat blood from his mouth. The fight began. Riggs was the heavier, but Batik moved with speed and landed more blows, yet the punishment each man took was appalling to Shannow’s eyes.
Grabbing Batik in a bear-hug, Riggs lifted him from his feet, but Batik hammered his open palms into Riggs’ ears and broke free. Riggs kicked Batik’s legs from under him and then leapt feet-first at his head. The Hellborn rolled and rose to his feet; then, as Riggs rushed at him he ducked under a left hook and hammered a combination of punches to Riggs’ belly. The big man grunted and backed away and Batik followed, thundering blows to Riggs’ chin. Both men were bloodied now and Batik’s shirt was in tatters. Riggs tried to grapple, but Batik swung him round and tripped him. The bigger man landed on his face and Batik leapt on his back, grabbing his hair and his chin.
’Say goodbye, Riggs,’ he hissed, then wrenched the chin up and to the right. The sound of the snapping neck made Shannow wince. Batik staggered to his feet, then moved to a nearby table where Shannow joined him.